


Want 2: Wednesday

by Teland



Series: Want [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-07-22
Updated: 1999-07-22
Packaged: 2020-12-21 02:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21067172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: It's Wednesday.





	Want 2: Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Maxine and Kellie Matthews for beta!
> 
> Lyrics stolen from "Electric Relaxation" by A Tribe Called Quest.

Morning.

Sex.

Morning.

Frasersex.

Work.

Need more sex.

You're not actually getting any, jerk.

And the Fraser in Ray's mind dissolves a la   
Raiders of the Friggin' Arc into an image of   
himself wearing that nightmare of a friggin'   
prom tux and *wham*.

He's awake and struggling with the sheets   
that have somehow wound around his ankles  
and tripped him *anotherwham* to the floor.

And he suddenly realizes he has to piss like a  
racehorse and *just* the same moment he   
realizes that it's 11:42 ayem and

//*fuckfuckfuck WORK* Fraser's gonna give   
me such shit for this oh wait it's Wednesday.//

Day-off Wednesday to be specific and he   
would've been more pissed with himself if all   
the panicking hadn't allowed him to forget   
what Fraser had been about to do when he'd   
so rudely interrupted himself. 

//Aaaaaaaaaah.//

Ray smacks himself a good one and continues  
to disentangle himself from the sheets in a far   
slower and more orderly fashion. Yes, he's got   
the day off. 

Nobody is going to yell at him for sleeping   
late while dreaming about things he doesn't   
even remember good. 

Up off the floor, into the shower and eeeeeeeee  
that's cold but getting hotter hotter too hot   
colder *right*.

Shakes his head for not remembering that he  
didn't have to do that jump in the shower   
*immediately* thing. 

It's his *day* *off*.

Just for that, he stays in the shower until the   
questionable drain stops draining and his feet  
are getting pruney. His skin prickles up as   
soon as he shuts the water off. Even in the dim,   
steamy shower he knows he's distinctly more   
reddish than usual.

It's now 12:20 and Ray congratulates himself.   
That was definitely a day off shower.

He considers shaving, checks out the scruff, the   
aging razor, the empty razor package, the   
scruff, and gives up. Runs his finger over the   
damp stubble and shivers briefly at the damp   
familiar friction of it. 

Maybe later. 

Slow piss complete with gratuitous ass-scratching.

Out into the bedroom and he remembers his   
resolution -- get the damned mumble song the   
fuck out of the stereo. He reflects that it may or   
may not be a good thing that he hasn't been   
with Fraser long enough to stop thinking things   
like that are achievments.

CD's changed and now he's done it. He has   
started it in motion.

It is nothing more nor less than the   
quintessential day-off thing. 

He has put on dance music.

Today he starts with remixed Tribe. A few years   
old, but still undeniably quality. Later there'll be   
this funky little club mix acquired as a   
thank-you gift from a lipsticked-up dj kid Fraser   
had managed to save from sure prison time   
with his own help. 

Day-off music. Something close to the fabled   
night-off music from back when he was a   
rookie and Stella a student and the both of   
them ready to dance or fight or fuck on the floor  
of that pit of an apartment --

He smacks himself another good one. Stella no   
longer counts as a day-off thought. 

But the bass has already started and he doesn't   
have to think because his hips are moving. It's   
almost to the right point -- the Day Off Point --   
and he's only just begun. Tribe was a good   
choice.

The rhythms are these shameless things. Firm,  
inescapable. Definite impression that the lyrics  
are secondary to this body-thumping creature   
of pure music. 

His spine creaks into life, his legs move and   
bend to counter-rhythm his hips. One simple   
motion expands to three. Some feeling in his  
head like the instacartoon sensation of   
stop-motion plant fertility films. Exploding   
flowers or whatever.

"You could be my mama and I'll be your boy."

Q-Tip purring, Ray moving his lips along with   
the words, arms raising slowly, following the   
sways and wave-turns of his upper body. 

Fuck it. He wants his dance partner back, if only   
for a little while. 

And suddenly there's Stella, hair falling over   
her eyes as her head dips to the music, dressed   
in that pastel peach suit that makes Ray want   
to just *smudge* her a little until she isn't.

Then she's in that worn little gray tank-top and  
no bra and her cut-off khaki shorts. Her knees,   
of all things, are a little sunburned. 

The spray of freckles on her lower belly is visible  
for a sudden heart-stopping moment as she   
dances. Ray might as well be 24 or 17 as he is   
36 and Christ how the years have gone, but  
Stella's still the girl, the constant of perfection   
that proves the simple goodness of life.

Her head's up again and she's smiling and her   
hips start to move more as Ray crouches into a  
sensuous little snakedance before her, moving   
in closer and closer.

Not breathing yet. Knowing exactly what Stella   
will smell like but still waiting for it. Working   
for it. 

Music shifts with each song but it's one of those   
times where Ray's rhythm doesn't have to be an   
exact copy. Stella's got her arms up over her   
head now, and when she does that... It's almost...   
devotional the way she does it. 

Both reaching for and being trapped by divinity.   
Wild like Ray knows wild things should be. He can  
feel a wave of her heat now, scent that classy   
cologne she likes so much on the air and finally,   
finally --

There's a knock on the door.

Ray wobbles a little in his stance and barely   
manages to catch himself before he falls on his   
ass. Stella's gone. The only smell is the vague   
mustiness of his apartment. 

"Who is it?"

He knows who it is.

"Benton Fraser."

Of course. Someone's in trouble and time is of the  
essence and so much for Wednesday.

He opens the door with a resigned sigh, rubs his   
temples in anticipation of the headache to come. 

And there Fraser is on the threshold, the least   
casual looking person in casual clothes in the   
entire universe. Hat tapping lightly against the   
side of his thigh and *wham* just like that he   
remembers that in the dream Fraser had pushed   
him up against the wall, nudged his thighs   
apart and --

"Afternoon, Ray. May I come in?"

//Aaaaaaah.//

Ray makes an expansive gesture at his apartment  
and moves aside for Fraser to pass. Dark blue   
plaid today. Vaguely scandalous to be able to see   
no obvious red. 

"What's going on, Frase? Who's in great peril?"

Confused look. "No one is in peril that I know   
of, Ray."

"You're sure?"

"Well, I can't actually be *sure*, as I have no way   
of seeing everyone at once."

"I thought that came standard with the uniform."

"I'm not wearing my uniform, Ray."

Ray can't help but crack a smile. He shares it with   
Fraser before he can second-guess himself and   
they proceed to have a moment. And then Ray   
remembers they're just standing there and shakes  
it off.

"Have a seat, Frase. Can I get you anything?"

"Oh, a glass of water would be nice, thank you."

"Your wish..."

And Ray gets the water and walks back over to   
his couch. Fraser is continuing to look like what  
Ray is pretty sure could be found only in an   
L.L. Bean catalog. He's never seen the inside of  
one, but Fraser certainly fits the part.

The music's still on and he knows this part and   
he's moving again, just on the way to the couch.   
Stella's still gone but Q-Tip will never leave him. 

Fraser doesn't get his water until the third grab  
but when he does Ray dances back to his   
bedroom and shuts the stereo off and back into  
the living room and Fraser looks vaguely   
worried.

"What?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt you, Ray --"

"You're *not* interrupting me."

"All right."

Silence again, but Ray doesn't mind. He can still   
hear the echoes of bass and percussion in his   
head and he's just on the edge of movement. If   
he listens to the echoes any longer he'll be   
dancing again, but for now he's what he   
considers to be still.

Fraser is just slightly in front and to the right   
of him on the couch and a simple eye-cut gives   
him a view of one tricky little dark curl falling  
to the soft-looking skin at Fraser's nape.

He reaches out a hand to touch it and is just   
snatching it back when Fraser turns again to   
face him. Awkward positioning gives Ray what   
he hopes is enough time to make the snatching  
look like a plausible move.

"Feel free to keep dancing, Ray. I find your   
music to be fascinating."

"You sound like a Star Trek alien, Fraser."

"Hmmm?"

"Nothing."

"All right."

"OK."

"Yes."

Ray chuckles again and catches Fraser's smile   
dead-on as he did it. Stupid little things are fun  
with Fraser, Ray has long since come to accept  
that as part of the way things are.

"... Ray?"

Something tells him that isn't the first Ray to   
come out of Fraser's mouth. "What?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?  
Is this some sort of Canadian thing?"

"Actually, Ray, many species find prolonged eye   
contact to be threatening."

"Why are you here?" And Ray winces to himself  
because there's no way his tone is remotely   
neutral. It's not his fault. He's confused, horny,   
tired. Something.

It's his *day* *off* --

"Well, Inspector Thatcher gave me the afternoon   
off and I just thought we might do something   
together..." His eyes are widening. "We don't have   
to, of course. I'm sorry to intrude." Awkward   
glance. "I'll -- ah -- just be going."

Saying something would be good.

"I like you in blue."

No more days off, ever.

"Thank you, Ray. You yourself look quite nice   
in that towel."

Ray blinks, looks down. Pokes gently at the   
incredibly firm and complex knot. 

Proof positive his time with Fraser has been   
profitable... though only if he can actually   
figure a way *out* of the towel when the time   
comes. 

"Um... sorry about the gratuitous semi-nudity,  
Frase."

"Oh, it's quite all right."

//How about some just plain nudity then?//

"... Ray?"

//Oops. Speech.//

"How do I undo this knot, Fraser?"

//*AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH*//

"Ah. The woodchuck backs out of the burrow,   
where he meets the squirrel. They argue for   
several moments before embracing   
passionately --"

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Yes, Ray, I am. I'm not sure I've ever seen a   
knot quite like that before."

*  
Wednesday (2/2)  
Please see notes in part 1.  
*

"I created a new and special knot?"

"Everything you do is quite special."

"Thanks, Fraser. How do I get this towel off?"

"Maybe if you wriggle a bit?"

"Wriggle. You want me to wriggle?"

"Well... I must admit the thought had occurred  
to me. You move around so *much*. I imagine   
it would be quite torturous for you to have to   
stand still, and that wriggling would come quite   
naturally to you."

"I don't wriggle."

"Of course not."

"I can writhe."

"Yes."

"Possibly even shimmy."

"That could work."

"I'm not a wriggler. I do not wriggle. Wriggling   
does not occur in the Land of Ray."

"Never."

"Right."

"Yes."

Another pause. Ray's still poking at the knot with  
no success whatsoever, but that could just be   
because Fraser is still twisted around to look at  
him and they're both being very threatening.

"Ray?"

"Yeah?" Got it in one.

"Do you find me sexually attractive?"

Ray blinks. Twice. Does his best to jumpstart his  
voicebox, but only manages to tug roughly at the  
towel end instead.

//Whoops.//

More nudity. But Fraser only nods seriously, and  
Ray figures that was as good an answer as any.

"How do you feel about adding that -- er -- aspect   
to our relationship, Ray?"

Ray twitches. "Thigh."

"Thigh?"

Ray nods, utterly unable to care about coherency. 

"Ah. Yes. I, too.... thigh." Puzzled look and then   
Fraser is shaking his head. Licking his lips. 

And Ray's moving again, fast and graceless and   
he gets Fraser pinned and then the only thing he   
can think to do is lick the other man's tongue. 

Which is something Fraser approves of, and   
Ray knows that because his mouth is currently   
being thoroughly explored, surveyed, and   
developed. 

Fraser. 

Ray feels like making a comment, smirking,   
something. But only a very, very little as   
compared to the whole rubbing himself all over   
Fraser and making a terrible mess thing. 

Ray buries his head under Fraser's collar and   
breathes. Smells something he knows he has no   
hope whatsoever of separating into precise   
scents. It doesn't matter, though. Fraser is one   
of the best reasons to continue breathing Ray   
has ever inhaled.

"Ray --"

"Shut up."

"That's not very polite."

"I'm sorry."

"I forgive you. Ray?"

"Are you going to stop me?"

"I wasn't planning to, no."

"Oh... then what?"

"I'd like to remove some of my clothing."

"All or nothing."

"All right."

"And at least one item must be thrown to the   
floor in wild abandon."

"Why?"

Ray regretfully sits up, straddling Fraser half-on/  
half-off the couch. "It has to be rumpled."

"Why?"

"Because."

"That's not a very good reason, Ray."

"It's an excellent reason."

"I just don't see why --"

Ray braces himself on his hands and thrusts   
against the heat in Fraser's jeans. Has to turn   
his head away when Fraser gasps, squeezes his   
eyes shut. Thrusts up against him. "This is why."

And this is also what Ray thinks of as flying --   
that part of a long, long fall where you're too   
terrified to even notice you're dropping like a   
rock. Or maybe he's just some stupid cartoon   
hunter who has just run out over the cliff-edge   
and is hovering there, just waiting to screw up   
and fall. 

Part of him is never going to believe this, but   
Ray is actually *that* close to bolting up from  
Fraser's body when Fraser runs one hand down  
his spine to cup his ass. Squeeze him and oh,   
Jesus, somehow Ray knows that every time   
Fraser touches him a part of his mind is going   
to just short out in shock.

He gets his hands up to Fraser's buttons and   
manages three before the constant motion of   
the hand on his ass, of the other hand pressing   
and running across his chest becomes too   
much. He's shaking, trying to push himself in   
three different directions and every time he   
*thinks* he has half a handle on this Fraser is   
thrusting up.

Rough starched denim against him and Ray's   
not sure when he got this hard, but he is.

He slips his hand inside the flannel and finds   
Fraser's t-shirt is gratifyingly soaked in sweat.   
He can smell the just-past-cleaness of it, feel it   
humid against his own skin. And then Fraser   
stops touching him for just long enough to   
remove his shirts.

Slowly, deliberately crumples them in his fist. 

Flings them over his shoulder. Ray hears them  
land on the floor and shivers. 

"That was very, very nice of you, Fraser."

"I know."

And then Fraser was pulling him down again.   
Wrapping his arms around Ray and holding him   
against his chest just tightly enough to be...   
positive. Emphatic, even. 

Ray feels all that smooth skin against his own  
and starts moving again, manages to brush his   
nipple against one of Fraser's once, twice before  
he has to moan again, has to lean in for   
another kiss. Fraser's tongue slips back into   
his mouth easily, thickly.

Ray moans again and opens himself to the kiss,   
feels Fraser tighten his hold briefly and then he  
has to move, has to shift and thrust and flex.   
It's suddenly extremely important that he touch  
as much of Fraser as possible with as much of   
himself as possible.

He manages to get his hands down to Fraser's   
waist and the kiss is broken for several   
heartbeats.

"Ray."

And he realizes his eyes have been closed at the   
same moment that he opens them to find Fraser  
flushed and mussed. The curve of neck to bare   
shoulder is almost obscene. All he can manage   
to get out is "hmmm...?"

"I only wanted to see your eyes."

"You just *have* to say things like that, don't   
you?"

"They're very dark right now, Ray. And there is   
a ring of fire around the blackness..."

Thrill of fear down his spine at the intensity in   
Fraser's voice. He can't handle this -- "Please   
stop."

Another confused look but Ray doesn't give the   
question time to form, just dives in for another  
kiss. Manages to jump-start his hands and get   
Fraser's fly undone.

The boxers are tight against his hard cock,   
soaked in sweat and pre-come and Fraser's still   
looking into his eyes and Ray suddenly notices   
that part of Fraser's flush is beard-burn and   
then he has the other man's cock in his fist and   
it's very, very good.

"Ray --"

And that's the only way he ever wants to hear   
his name from now on. Broken like that. A little   
hoarse. 

He kisses Fraser again, loose and messy. Wants   
to give him as much opportunity as possible to   
say his name that way again. Kisses their cocks   
together length to length and gasps, thrusts. His  
hip joints feel oiled for this and he's not sure he   
could stop if he tried.

And Fraser is just laying back, letting him do   
whatever and that thought is enough to send a   
wave of heat through his body. He wonders if he'll  
get Fraser to talk about this. About how long he'd   
wanted this. 

He wonders if he'll be able to sit there and listen   
to Fraser say those things.

"Oh, please Ray..."

Yes. Only possible answer to that is yes and Ray   
tries and fails to move smoothly down the couch,  
down Fraser's body. The sweaty leather of the   
couch thwarts his easily, though, and he lands a   
little hard on the floor. 

Fraser's up to help him immediately but that just  
makes it easy for Ray to kneel up between the   
other man's thighs and grab hold. Sucks in the   
head and Fraser lets out a low groan that makes   
every hair on Ray's body stand up rigid.. 

And then he takes a long, deep breath through   
his nose and when there's nothing there but   
Fraser it finally occurs to him that he's kneeling   
between the man's still-jeans-clad thighs and   
sucking his cock.

That there's a large strong hand trembling on his   
head, curling and uncurling around the back of   
his skull. Fraser's obviously struggling not to pull   
Ray down further. 

Not to fuck his throat.

Ray shudders and forces his gaze up to Fraser's.   
Feels fingers tighten in his hair for just a second  
as something hot and dark flashes over those   
blue eyes. 

And then he closes his eyes again and slips further  
down on Fraser's cock. He wishes he could define   
the taste more, the feel, but it's a fleeting thought.   
He's decided that he can only stroke himself as fast  
as he fucks his face.

So it's slow torture and the one hand hasn't left   
the back of his head, and the other is tracing over   
his eyelids and cheekbones so softly. Ray tries to   
quiet the wet sounds he's making if only to hear   
Fraser's desperate ones a little better.

Opens his eyes and something about the   
disappearing/reappearing crease in the soft flesh  
over the other man's stomach muscles is just   
too much to take. He starts jerking Fraser faster,   
harder. Out of rhythm with his suck but he needs  
Fraser to do this, come for him.

He hums deliberately around the other man's   
length and sucks harder, squeezing and pulling   
on himself far more roughly than usual but he   
*needs* this and even though he's not sure why   
he won't deny himself. 

And suddenly there it is: a truly helpless sounding   
groan and real pressure on the back of his head   
and Fraser is much louder now. Shameless, out of   
control *out of control* and just those three words  
are all it takes to push him to the edge and over   
in a hot blushing sticky rush over his hand and   
belly, spattered on the floor before his knees. 

Before he can think he brings his messy hand up,   
slides off with a wet pop, and slicks up Fraser's   
cock with a mixture of their juices.

"Ray, *please*."

And the desperation there sends another lash of   
feeling to his over-sensitized cock. He has to taste   
themselves right *now*. And so he braces Fraser   
again with one slick hand, feeling all that   
frustrated heat pulse against the soft of Ray's   
palm, needing to touch and rub and lick and lick   
and Ray leans down and takes Fraser's cock like a  
summer treat, using the flat of his tongue to rasp  
it clean.

Just a few more strokes and Fraser's entire body   
stiffens to attention. Ray back away just in time   
as Fraser loses it all over his hands, one spurt   
hitting him on the neck. 

//Fraser you just came all over me.//

And the only thought that's spoken aloud is a   
shuddering gasp, and he's not sure which of them  
did it.

He takes a moment to breathe, revel in the feel   
of Fraser's come on him. Nuzzle the warm-but-  
still-denimed length of the other man's thighs. 

"Fraser."

"Yes."

"Why did you come here?"

"I wanted to see you, Ray..."

Above him he can hear Fraser shifting, physically  
trying to pull himself back to order after Ray's   
unexpected question.

And Ray himself doesn't have the foggiest clue as   
to what he *wants* Fraser's answer to be and so he  
just crawls up and plants one on kiss-swollen lips. 

Red. And the dim ache Ray feels tells him that his  
own mouth has seen leaner times. Already, he   
wishes he was just that slightest bit more raw.

"Fraser, will you stay?"

And that hand is on his jaw, tilting it up. Hesitant  
motion, almost until they are eye-to-eye again.   
Fraser searches Ray's eyes with a sort a relentless  
care that he knows will make him feel a little   
colder later. There is no part of Ray's mind that   
will allow him to think that... care is for anyone   
but him. 

Much too fast. "Frase... you don't have to --"

And Fraser pulls him closer and his lips tremble  
for a heartbeat on the edge of saying something   
and then Ray's being kissed. Slowly, gently,   
ruthlessly until he's breathless and, for all intents  
and purposes, paralyzed on Fraser's lap. 

Fraser's hand is already at the base of his spine,  
working at the spots that want to ache from the   
awkward positioning.

Another kiss. "I have to. I have to stay here, Ray.   
Is that all right?" Low perfect whisper in his ear,   
flurry of soft brushkisses against the shell of it. 

And all Ray can do is nod and hold on. 

End.


End file.
